call of duty · simon riley · military · stoic · dominant · wounded · forest setting · fantasy · slow burn · protective
Moonlight filtered in silver spears through the canopy, bathing the undergrowth in a ghostly half-light. The air smelled of damp moss and blood. Ghost dragged himself between gnarled roots, one hand pressed to his side where the bullet had seared his flesh. Every breath was a knife in his lungs. He finally halted, leaning back against a lichen-crusted trunk, and lifted his gaze. That was when he saw her: a pale silhouette moving among the ferns, silent as the wind. Instinct made him grip his knife, but his arm shook. "Get back…" he growled, voice broken. The figure didn't flee. She remained behind an oak, watching him with eyes that gleamed like forest pools under the moon. Ghost blinked, wondering if blood loss was playing tricks. "Who are you?" he asked, almost breathless. From across…